


Permanent Ink

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Bruises, Kink Meme, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changmin gets a tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanent Ink

He knew it was a mistake. Knew it the moment it was all over, but by then it was too late. No use regretting something that was now a permanent fixture, and besides, Changmin doesn’t do regrets. Things happen for a reason, and when they’ve happened, he deals with them.

Quite aside from the fact that it still hurts, his biggest problem now is keeping it a secret. He hadn’t thought that part through well enough. Hiding it from stylists and managers and the majority of people—no problem. Hiding it from Yunho—definite problem. 

Silly, really, because he thinks Yunho will be flattered. Or not. And that’s what’s really at issue here: the fact that he doesn’t know how Yunho will react.

He’s going to find out sooner or later. Changmin would prefer it to be later, because maybe he can casually bring it up in conversation and try to gauge Yunho’s feelings that way. It’s not as if Yunho hates tattoos or anything. Not after Jaejoong had so many. But this is different. Or at least Changmin thinks it’s different. 

Another reason to leave it until later is that he wants it to heal first. Right now the skin around the tattoo is still pink. It’s not displayed to best advantage. Not yet, anyway, and he wants it to look sexy.

Changmin frowns into the darkness of their hotel room. The air con whirrs a soothing background sound. Beside him, Yunho snuffles. It’s kind of cute. Not that Changmin ever plans on telling him that, but still, he likes it, and usually Yunho’s snuffling can send him to sleep. Not tonight, though. Not when he has so many thoughts chasing around his head.

Rolling onto his side, Changmin feels the pull of bruised flesh on his right hip. The tattoo is small, discreet; placed low down, almost in the crease where groin and torso meet. It’ll pretty much always be hidden by his underwear, but at the moment he’s wishing he’d had it done someplace else, like his elbow or maybe on his forehead—no one would be able to see it there because of his fringe—because the skin is taut across his hip and it aches with a sort of bone-deep, rolling pain that’s almost not pain.

Changmin hates half measures of any kind. He’s aware that he’s been doling them out to Yunho over the last couple of days. Time has become a meaningless concept since he arrived in Japan and began filming the movie. He doesn’t even know how long he and Yunho were apart, but it was long enough that as soon as he walked through the door, Yunho went for him like some kind of ground to air missile. Usually Changmin appreciates Yunho’s enthusiasm for giving blowjobs, but not this time. Not with his hip still bruised.

It was like kicking a puppy. Fortunately Yunho likes cuddling, too, so Changmin was able to fob him off with a line about a headache—God, did he really use that excuse? So lame—and the next time Yunho got all handsy, Changmin blew him instead, and that was the end of that. 

Shit, he’s tired. He turns onto his front. His mind drifts on the edge of sleep. Two more days and he can show Yunho the tattoo. Three more days, just to be sure. He’ll get up early and surprise Yunho in the shower. Yeah, that’ll be sexy. He imagines it, imagines sliding back the glass door and stepping in and turning the heat up and Yunho being all startled and pleased and reaching for him with soapy hands, and then he’d see the tattoo and get all breathless, the way he does when he’s excited, and he’d look up with shining eyes and say—

“Let’s dance.”

Changmin jerks out of his waking dream, confused for a moment. Blinking, he lifts his head from the dented pillow. “Uh?”

Yunho is fully dressed. He’s shaved. He smells of cologne and toothpaste. His hair is brushed. He is not just awake, he is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and Changmin just _hates_ morning people.

“Now you’re awake, I want to practice ‘Before U Go’,” Yunho announces.

So not happening. Changmin rolls away. “Not stopping you, bro.”

Yunho climbs over him. “You need to practice, too.”

“I’m asleep.”

“Come on.” Yunho attempts to extricate him from the duvet. It’s like trying to get wasabi out of a sushi roll. “You can sleep-dance, Changminnie!”

For fuck’s sake. Yunho must be on uppers or something because there is no _way_ any normal human being would voluntarily get out of bed at—Changmin opens one eye again and stares at the alarm clock on the bedside table— _five forty-six_ in order to practice a dance routine. He grunts and burrows further beneath the duvet. Five forty-six. On what is mostly their day off. That’s so wrong he doesn’t even know where to start. Yunho is weird. Sick. Deranged. Best thing is to ignore him.

“Chang _minnie_!”

Oh God, not the yodelling. Changmin groans and drags a pillow over his head.

“Changminnie! Changminnie!” Yunho bounces on the mattress.

This is so unfair. 

Yunho heaves the duvet off the bed and dumps it on the floor. Changmin yowls as cold air flows over him. That stupid bastard has turned down the air con, but damn, it’s effective. It galvanises Changmin into action, or at least into vocalising his complaints a little more coherently. “Jung, you are so dead,” he promises. “Just as soon as I wake up, I am going to—”

“Dance,” Yunho finishes for him, taking hold of Changmin’s ankles and hauling him across the bed.

Changmin swears at him in every language he knows.

Yunho just beams and throws a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants at him. “Get dressed,” he says. “Unless you’d prefer to practice in your underwear.” His expression brightens at the thought. “I have no problem with that. In fact...”

“Fuck off.” Changmin clings to the garments as Yunho tries to wrestle them from his grasp. “Oh God, why must you be like this? It’s too early.”

“It’s never too early to dance!” Yunho pirouettes, switching from the ridiculous to the almost-sublime within the space of a heartbeat. He comes out of his spin, finishing his lines perfectly, and gives Changmin a twinkling look. “Just one rehearsal and I promise I’ll suck you off afterwards.”

“Well, if you put it like that...” Changmin heaves a long-suffering sigh and starts to dress.

Looking smug, Yunho wanders out of the bedroom and into the sitting room of their suite. Changmin waits until he hears the muted sound of the television give way to the beat and slide of familiar music before he hooks a thumb into the waistband of his underwear. Lifting the fabric a little, he casts a brief look at his hip. The redness is fading, but the skin is still tender. After he’s mollified Yunho with this dance practice, he’ll take a nice hot shower and smooth in some cream, and in a couple of days, he’ll be ready to show Yunho.

He goes into the sitting room. The furniture has been pushed back to give them space. Yunho is warming up, all trace of his earlier playfulness gone as he focuses on his movements. Changmin yawns, brushes his fringe from his eyes, and does a few half-hearted twists before stretching out his hamstrings. “We could do this in a proper dance studio, if you wanted. Or on the stage. We don’t have to do this here and now.”

Yunho laces his fingers together and stretches his arms above his head. His t-shirt rides up, giving Changmin a flash of warm skin. “I had a dream last night that you’d forgotten how to do this dance.”

“Me?” Changmin shakes his head. “I could do this dance in my sleep. Wait—I _am_ doing this dance in my sleep. Slave-driver.”

“I prefer the term ‘perfectionist’.”

“Yes,” Changmin says, “in the same way a dictator prefers the term ‘democratically elected leader’.”

Yunho pauses. “Laugh at me all you like, but I just wanted to be sure you hadn’t forgotten anything while you were off making your film.”

Changmin huffs. “I wouldn’t forget.”

“You can be single-minded.” Yunho picks up the remote control and presses a few buttons, cueing up the track. “Sometimes you’re so single-minded you lose sight of things.”

“No, that’s you.” Changmin says, stung. “I’m focused. You’re forgetful.”

Yunho looks at him. “Really.”

It’s not quite a question. Changmin swallows and looks away. Even after all this time, occasionally he underestimates Yunho’s powers of observation. He doesn’t doubt that his behaviour over the last few days has been noted and dissected and that Yunho has probably put two and two together and come up with eight hundred and sixty-three. Scrubbing at the back of his hair, wishing that he’d brushed it, Changmin sighs and says, “Let’s dance.”

They get into position. Yunho hits the remote and the music starts. Changmin shakes off his tiredness and goes onto automatic, dancing with muscle memory. Yunho always sings along whenever they rehearse, but Changmin rarely bothers. Right now the only time he opens his mouth is to yawn. His mind floats free as they dance. He thinks about the scenes he filmed for the movie and whether he did a good enough job. He wonders what to order for breakfast. He curses the pile of the carpet for making him shuffle his feet rather than letting him glide elegantly.

And then he stretches a little, and his tattoo pulls.

Changmin swallows his involuntary exclamation. It doesn’t hurt; not really. It just _pulls_ , and it’s kind of uncomfortable and sore and it makes his bruised flesh throb in that odd, insistent way. What’s worse, he knows it’s going to pull even more when they go into the ‘crouch, spread knees, cup groin, stand up’ routine. He winces in advance.

Maybe because he’s thinking about how much that move will really hurt, when the time comes for that section of the dance his whole body is strung tight and his movements are rigid and mechanical. His tension makes it worse, and when they drop down onto their haunches and spread their knees wide, Changmin feels the tattoo stretch. It pulls. Tight, tighter. 

Oh shit, it hurts worse than he expected. So much so that Changmin yelps, certain for a heartbeat that his skin has broken. The pain is like a brand, and weirdly it feels wet, as if he’s bleeding, which just makes him even more convinced that his skin has split open like an overripe fruit. It’s such a horrifying thought that he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. When he realises that Yunho is two beats ahead of him, Changmin tries to catch up, but the pain has knocked him off-balance and he crumples sideways onto the floor, drawing his knees to his chest and curling in on himself.

“Changmin!”

The music is switched off and Yunho is on his knees beside him, hands all over him, practically vibrating with concern. “Changmin, Changmin, are you okay? Baby, are you—”

Great, he’s swapped pain for a pain in the ass. Yunho is such an old man sometimes, worrying about everything. It’s kind of sweet, too, and comforting, but Changmin doesn’t want sweet and comforting right now. He unfurls a little, batting at Yunho’s hands. “I’m fine. Get off. Get _off_ me, you knob.”

“Oh, good. You can still insult me. You must be okay.” Yunho sits back, looking relieved, then he frowns. “What happened? Did you pull a muscle? I can fetch some ice. Some painkillers. A drink of water. You should rest. I’ll—”

“I don’t need ice.” Changmin rolls onto his back and lies flat, resting one hand protectively over the tattoo. His skin flickers with rubbing needle-pricks of pain. “It’s all right. I don’t need anything.” He presses down, winces again. “It’s just sore.”

“What’s sore?” Yunho’s eyes widen. He looks aghast. “Changmin, what did they do to you on that film set?”

It’s an opening. This isn’t how Changmin had envisaged The Big Reveal, but it’ll have to do. He can make it up as he goes along. Seems to work for Yunho most of the time, so maybe it’ll work for him, too.

“About that,” Changmin says, then stops. He can’t think of the right words to say, so he makes an irritated noise and lifts his hips off the carpet, pulls down the right side of his sweatpants, turns down his underwear, and exposes his hip to Yunho’s worried gaze.

Yunho looks. He goes very still. Stares.

Changmin resists the urge to squirm.

Silence. It seems to go on forever. And then—

“Changmin,” Yunho says, very, very quietly, “what is that?”

Shit, has it lost its shape and turned into a weird blob all of a sudden? Changmin lifts his head and looks down at his bare skin. No, it’s perfectly fine. Two Hangeul characters, ovals and horizontal lines with flicked tails or slashed verticals. He admires it for a moment, then answers Yunho’s question. “It’s a tattoo.”

Yunho looks up at him, so sombre and big-eyed that Changmin thinks yet again that this was all a huge mistake. “Were you drunk?”

Wow, okay. Because the only time he could possibly do something like this would be if he was drunk. Embarrassed and waspish, Changmin lies. “So what if I was? A bunch of us got tanked up on that cheap nitro-glycerine shit they serve all over the place here and we went to a karaoke bar and I had shots all night and then someone said we should all get tattoos, because that’s what they did on _Lord of the Rings_ , and it seemed like a really cool idea so we got into a taxi and went to this place and—and...”

Yunho’s expression is incredulous. “What’s the name of this place?”

“Somewhere in Osaka, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters!” Yunho is angry now, his temper sparking. “They had no right to do this to you when you were drunk! Reputable tattooists should refuse to serve drunk people! I want the name of this place, I want to report them to—to _someone_ , or failing that, I’m going to go there and—and— I don’t know what I’m going to do, but this isn’t right, Changminnie, this is...” He stops, looking oddly upset. “You have my name on you.”

Changmin closes his eyes for a moment. Yep, he was right: this was a mistake and he doesn’t know how to make it better. Feeling cornered, he snaps, “I was too drunk to remember how to write ‘soju’.”

Yunho shakes his head, looking confused.

Another endless silence.

Tentatively, as if afraid of hurting him, Yunho strokes a fingertip over the tattoo, feather-light. “It’s really pretty,” he offers at length.

“I wasn’t drunk,” Changmin mumbles.

Yunho glances at him. “What?”

“I wasn’t drunk.” Changmin can’t meet his gaze. “Maybe I was a bit tipsy when the others first suggested it, but I was sober when I went under the needle. I knew what I was doing.”

He darts a look at Yunho and finds him staring. Changmin feels like he’s being racked. He hates explaining himself. “I wanted your name on me, okay?”

“Why?”

“Because I did.” It comes out all gruff, his throat aching. Changmin swallows, says it again: “I just wanted your name on me.”

Yunho’s eyes flash. He crawls over Changmin and kisses him, does it hard, gives him the hot, hot plunge of his tongue. Changmin makes a muffled sound and responds, tilts back his head and opens his mouth, but then Yunho pulls away and stares down at him, looking a little wild.

Changmin licks his lips. “D’you like it?”

“Changmin.” Yunho is trembling. His breathing is erratic. “You idiot,” he says, and kisses him again. Longer this time, sweeter, and Changmin pulls at him, hooks an arm around the back of Yunho’s neck and drags him down to lie on top of him. 

This is more the kind of response he’d wanted. Changmin hums into the kiss, and when they break apart, he asks, “Is that a yes?”

Yunho wriggles free and retreats down Changmin’s body to examine the tattoo again. He hangs over it, lips parted as if he’s never seen a tattoo before. “It’s so black.”

“Only because it’s fresh,” Changmin tells him. “The ink will settle in a few weeks once the bruising has gone down.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yeah.” He was going to lie about that, but there doesn’t seem to be any point. “Didn’t take long, though. Maybe ten minutes. The guy didn’t know any Korean. At first I was thinking kanji but I thought that would be too obvious and I didn’t want to end up in the gossip magazines, so I went with Hangeul.”

Yunho strokes it again, looking amazed.

Though his reverence is immensely satisfying, Changmin starts to feel a bit awkward. It’s only two characters, after all. It’s not like Jaejoong’s tattoos. To cover his sudden misgiving, Changmin continues, “When I don’t like you any more, I’m going to have a tribal tattooed on top of it. Just so you know.”

“You don’t like me now,” Yunho says. “Tell you what, I can get a permanent marker and draw something over it. It’ll be cheaper and less painful.”

“Also less artistic.” Changmin closes his hand around Yunho’s wrist. “Seriously. If you’re not comfortable with it, I’ll have it lasered off.”

“No, you won’t.” There’s a note of ferocious certainty in Yunho’s voice. “You’re going to keep it.”

Excitement twists and kicks. Changmin feels breathless. “So you like it. You’re okay with it.”

Yunho lifts his head and gives him a searing look. “You have my name inked into your skin. It’s like you belong to me.”

“Um,” Changmin says. Sometimes Yunho is so _slow_. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

The intensity in Yunho’s eyes increases, becomes incandescent. “Oh yeah, I like it. I like it a lot.” He strokes over the tattoo with gentle, circling motions. “I like it so much I’m thinking you should be naked pretty much all the time we’re alone, just so I can see it.”

“Don’t get carried away.”

“Let me.” Yunho smiles, his expression alight. He leans down. “Let me get carried away, Changminnie.” 

He kisses the ink, lets his lips rest over the two characters making up his name, then lifts his head slightly to say, “I can feel your pulse.” The words tickle across Changmin’s skin and he squirms in response, his breathing starting to become ragged.

“I’m going to lick it,” Yunho says, and he sounds prayerful. “Is that okay?”

Of course it’s okay. It’s not like Yunho’s tongue is made of sandpaper or anything; it’s not like he could lick the tattoo off him. Really, he’s so ridiculous sometimes. But Changmin doesn’t say any of this. The only sound to escape his throat is something like “Ngh.”

Yunho takes this as an affirmative and licks at the tattoo. Gently at first, an experimental flick with his tongue-tip, and then he uses more pressure, uses the flat of his tongue, and he licks and licks, making his way from Changmin’s hipbone inwards and downwards, mouthing at the tattoo and then sliding lower to Changmin’s pubic hair before reversing direction and working back up.

Changmin makes a series of garbled noises and writhes and jumps. It tickles—Yunho’s tongue, the path he’s licking, the brush of his hair. It wakes things in him, hungry, grasping things, and Changmin stifles a moan, his cock thickening to spring up hard against his thigh, tenting the loosened sweatpants.

Yunho pauses in his task and nuzzles at Changmin’s erection. “Oh, what’s this?”

“My cock, you idiot.” 

“Mm, I did promise you a blowjob.” Yunho gives a soft laugh, and then things seem to fall into place—so slow, Jung—and he looks up. “ _This_ was why you didn’t let me touch you before?”

It seems a bit stupid now. Changmin nods, a little shamefaced. “I wanted it to be a surprise. When it had healed.”

Yunho makes an amused sound and goes back to licking him.

Changmin can’t stop a moan from escaping this time. Every part of him seems connected, alive to the soft, wet sensation of Yunho lapping at the tattoo. The distant ache of bruised flesh now thrums to the heavy beat of arousal. 

“I can feel it,” Yunho murmurs. “The characters are all raised up. It’s... it’s _sexy_.” He pauses. “Your skin tastes different, too. Just a little.”

“Antiseptic cream,” Changmin says without thinking.

Yunho quivers with laughter and rests his forehead on Changmin’s thigh. “I was trying to turn you on.”

“You don’t need to try.” Crap, he didn’t think before he said that, either. Yunho will never allow him to forget it. Annoyed, Changmin says hurriedly, “Didn’t you say something about a blowjob? Shouldn’t you be taking my present position as an invitation or did you want it in writing?”

Yunho beams and circles the tattoo with his fingertips. “I believe I already got it.”

Oh, smart. Yunho thinks he’s so clever. Changmin narrows his eyes, then realises he doesn’t have a witty comeback. Damn it. “Just... do something.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Yunho asks, “You want me to suck you?”

God, yes, yes. “Stop talking.”

“I thought you liked me to talk.”

“Not when it slows you down,” Changmin argues, wriggling as Yunho peels down the sweatpants and underwear. “Not when you could be—oh fuck.”

Yunho sinks his mouth around Changmin’s cock, sighing all the way down to the root, and then he lets it slide from his lips and says, “Maybe we should take this back to bed.”

Changmin really doesn’t want to move from the floor, but Yunho is already bouncing to his feet and pulling his t-shirt over his head as he goes. A slave to his dick, Changmin struggles upright, emulating Yunho and shedding his clothes en route. 

The bed is altogether too far away. Yunho grabs at the remote control for the air con and adjusts the temperature to something better than the Arctic Blast setting, but the room is still cold and Changmin complains.

“I’ll keep you warm,” Yunho says, because he is just that cheesy and predictable, but Changmin doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind one bit when he gets spread out across the bed and Yunho climbs on top of him and kisses him, deep and slow.

Oh yeah, things are warming up nicely as Yunho licks a jagged wet line down the length of Changmin’s body. He doesn’t even mind the chill in the air now, because it teases over his saliva-slick skin and seems to tighten everything, and his nipples are peaked hard and he’s shivering with want, waiting for the moment when Yunho puts his mouth on him, hot and wet.

Changmin moans and thrusts up at him. Yunho could win Olympic gold for blowjobs. Not that Changmin wants him to compete or anything. No, he wants to keep this skill all for himself because he’s selfish like that. It’s good, so fucking good, and then Yunho pulls off him again—what the hell is _wrong_ with him?—and says, “I’m not going to suck you.”

“Wha—?” The disappointment is crushing. Changmin stares at him, bewildered.

Yunho smiles, gives him an innocent, gleaming look. “It’s like this, Changminnie. When I go down on you, I close my eyes so I can concentrate on your sexy musky smell and the taste of you and the feel of your cock stretching my mouth wide open, and if I close my eyes, I can’t see your pretty little tattoo. And I want to see it.”

“Um, open your eyes?” Changmin suggests stupidly.

Yunho’s smile turns wicked and he stretches out on the bed, rolling onto his back. “No, baby. I want you on top of me so I can see your tattoo the whole time we fuck.”

Oh. Yes. Why not. Changmin needs a moment to process that because his brain appears to have gone offline. Then he whimpers in response and mounts up, straddles Yunho’s thighs and puts his hands on Yunho’s hips and drags himself over all that lovely hard muscled flesh until he lifts up, teasing the heat of his body over Yunho’s cock. Changmin sits on him, Yunho’s dick a hot, thick ridge pressed between Changmin’s thighs, rubbing against his perineum, the crown nudging behind Changmin’s balls.

“You’re gorgeous,” Yunho tells him, and Changmin feels shuddery and excited. Yunho runs his hands down Changmin’s chest, over his abs. He avoids the eager, dripping thrust of Changmin’s cock and slides the caress sideways, strokes the tattoo, then smoothes his hands over Changmin’s hips to the curve of his ass. Then Yunho splays his hands and grips tight, draws Changmin a little higher.

“I want you all wet,” Yunho says. “I want to slide inside you and fuck you really hard and make you scream.”

Changmin groans and leans forward to scrabble through the assorted crap on Yunho’s bedside table until he finds the lube. He doesn’t care that this is going to be cold; he just wants it in him, on Yunho. He squeezes out a handful and slicks it around and inside his hole, fingering himself, then he slathers a generous amount on Yunho’s dick.

Wiping his hand on the sheet, Changmin holds himself poised above Yunho, adjusting his angle. He rocks his hips, teasing, and Yunho jabs up at him, the thick head of his cock sliding amongst all that heat. Yunho groans, takes hold of Changmin’s thighs. “God, you’re all slippery. Fuck.”

Changmin positions himself, grasps Yunho’s cock and guides it to rest against his slick, wet hole. “C’mon,” he breathes, groaning as he impales himself slowly, slowly, on Yunho’s gorgeous thick length. He slides down, takes Yunho halfway, then stops, gasping, his head tipped back as if he can drag in more air. It’s not like he can forget how big Yunho is, but this position reminds him of it in every way, and for a moment Changmin hangs there, muscles straining, hole clenching around the huge thing inside him. The bruised skin around his tattoo stretches and pulls, but this time the pain turns straight to pleasure, the ache catching and snarling and adding to the dizzying twist of arousal. 

He brings his head forward, hair falling into his eyes. He smiles, laughter shivering out of him. “C’mon, baby, do it,” he demands. “Fuck me good.”

“Changminnie.” Yunho grabs his hips and jerks at Changmin, forcing him all the way down onto his cock.

Changmin’s mouth stretches around a wide, silent exhalation of pleasure. He’s spread right open, flushed and gasping, vulnerable and split around Yunho’s massive cock. The world tilts, grey sliding around the edges of his vision as his mind blanks on delight. He keens, a long, low sound. 

Yunho presses down on the tattoo and a strike of pleasure-pain blisters through Changmin. He jolts, the sting fading almost immediately as the movement rocks the head of Yunho’s dick against the bundle of sensitive nerve-endings inside him, and oh God, oh fucking fuck, that feels absolutely _amazing_.

“Ahh.” Changmin judders, stirs his hips back and forth, wanting that lightning-flash of ecstasy again. He tilts back a little, looking at Yunho’s face as he lifts up and then ruts down. Expression rich with lust, Yunho focuses on where they’re joined, on the slippery, slick wetness running down Changmin’s thighs and smearing all over his balls.

“Ohhh, can you hear that?” Yunho asks, fucking up into him, thrusting hard into the tight, hot passage. “The lube’s squelching out of you. It’s oozing, it’s so wet. Oh, it sounds so _dirty_. D’you feel dirty, Changminnie? D’you feel like a dirty slut with my name stamped on your skin? Do you like being mine, baby? Tell me, tell me now.”

Changmin grunts, mindless. “Yes, Yunho, oh yes yes.” He rolls his hips, rides Yunho faster. Tension arcs through him, sharpening his awareness. His cock slaps wetly against his abs. Sweat shimmers on his chest, slides down from his underarms. He licks his upper lip, tastes salt, and looks down at Yunho all desperate and focused. He squeezes his internal muscles, clasps Yunho’s cock tight, and Yunho whimpers and bucks and says “Changmin, oh my _God_ —”, and excitement pours through him, hot and pulsing and intense.

Yunho grasps his hips and growls out, “Oh, you dirty boy. Fuck, you’re hot. Come on my cock, baby,” and shafts into him harder and harder until fierce trembling shocks of pleasure lash through Changmin and turn him into a puppet, a fuck-toy, something made purely for pleasure: Yunho’s pleasure, his own pleasure, it’s all merging and swinging together to become the same thing.

Heat builds, lust tightening. The thick, rich smell of sex and sweat surrounds them. His hair falls limp and bedraggled into his eyes, and Changmin flicks it back, snatches at a breath and plunges down onto Yunho’s cock, rides it up, grinds back down, and ohhh yes it’s good, so good, and he wants more, he wants to come. Changmin grabs for his cock and jerks it, tugs it hard enough to make himself moan out loud like an absolute slut.

“I love seeing my name on you,” Yunho gasps. “Oh God, it’s incredible. Changminnie, you’re—you’re everything,” and then he presses down hard, fingertips digging into the tattoo, hard and bruising and possessive, and Changmin screams, his orgasm forced out of him in a huge crashing slam of ecstasy, and he’s shaking and begging and making all these frantic, desperate sounds as it breaks him apart and he shoots everywhere, painting them both with pretty, pearly ribbons of seed.

“Yes, baby, yes,” Yunho groans, and he comes just as hard, filling Changmin up inside all hot and wet, again and again.

Changmin gasps, his head spinning and his heart pounding. He eases off Yunho’s cock, feeling a trickle of lube and semen sliding out of him, and then he lets himself drop forward to lie with his face tucked against Yunho’s neck.

Yunho murmurs something soft and sweet and strokes a hand down Changmin’s back, then holds him, nuzzling at his damp hair and kissing his forehead.

Maybe the tattoo wasn’t a mistake after all, Changmin decides. Maybe it was one of the best things he ever did.


End file.
